


Tabletop Games

by Rehlia



Series: The Games Series [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, One Shot, Overstimulation, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, ectocock, kinda dom papyrus, papyrus is a sinnamon roll, reader is female
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehlia/pseuds/Rehlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus has his way with you on the kitchen table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tabletop Games

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing smut, so please feel free to critique this relentlessly so I'll know what to do better next time.
> 
> In no way shape or form related to my main fic, I just wanted to get some practise writing smut before it came up there and decided to defile the cinnamon roll.
> 
> Kind of dedicated to charmingcreep over on tumblr who metaphorically held my hand and listened to my drunk ramblings while I was a weenie writing this. You rock!

You like the way his scarf smells.

It’s a smell just like him: loud and attention-grabbing, a blend of tomato sauce, washing powder, and a chalky musk that stirs something deep inside of you. You smell it every single time he walks past you in the tiny kitchen, the fabric fluttering behind him as his wide steps carry him from the cupboards to the table to the stove and back. The constant repetition of pause and movement, pause and movement means that the smell hits you anew every time, that you have no chance to get used to it and ignore it, have it fade into the background like it normally does. You know his smell well after having dated him for a while now, but having it constantly wafted into your face like this...

It’s driving you crazy. 

“HUMAN, COULD YOU PLEASE PASS ME THE INGREDIENTS?”

“Sure, Paps.” You hand him the chopped vegetables, dumping the cutting board in the sink after and cleaning it while you’re at it. Less work for later. You turn to wipe the table, too.

Papyrus bustles at the stove preparing his pasta sauce with the vegetables, finally lowering the heat to let it simmer for a while. He’s come a long way since you first met him, worked his way steadily but surely from an absolute kitchen disaster to a level of competence that surprised everyone around him. He’s a really good cook, by now. 

“NOW THAT’S GONNA SIT THERE FOR A WHILE,” he declares. “HOW ABOUT WE HAVE SOME FUN IN THE MEANTIME?”

“Sure! You wanna watch some MTTTV or -”

You feel his large frame press against your back, trapping you between him and the table, the wood of the tabletop digging into your stomach.

“NO, HUMAN. I MEANT SOMETHING _FUN_.”

Oh.

Did he notice how much his smell worked you up?

He lowers his head and drags his teeth gently over your shoulder and up to the point where it meets your neck, further upwards to find your pulse, barely touching. You shiver at the delicate feeling of the tips of his teeth on your sensitive skin, the light, tickling pressure. He can’t kiss you without lips, but this soft, barely-there movement over your neck is just as delicious as any kiss could be. 

Your breath hitches as he carefully repeats the motion. 

Up and down. Up and down.

“P-papyrus…” You let out a small whine at the relentless, repetitive drag of his teeth, so light and faint, but impossible to ignore. It’s torture. You shiver again under him and he cackles into the crook of your neck. 

A warm, wet pressure joins the feathery touch of his teeth. He laps up the small beads of sweat gathering on your neck with his magically summoned, flexible tongue, breathing on the spots he’s licked until your skin prickles. 

“Papyrus, please,” you whimper. 

He presses his pelvis against your back with a loud, exuberant laugh accompanying it, grinds into you through the layers of both of your clothes. You can already feel him, hard and needy, the magic of his conjured cock feeling hot even through the fabric. His hands find the button of your jeans and deftly open them, tugging the jeans down to your knees together with your panties in one rough motion.

His fingers find their way to your already swollen clit, rubbing the flesh surrounding it, grazing it ever so often, not overstimulating with their hardness, but teasing in languid, circular motions. You feel your muscles twitch as your breath grows ragged. Papyrus has begun to pant into your ear, little hot puffs of breath interspaced with his tongue licking the outer shell down to your earlobe, nibbling at the softness there. He’s still rutting against you, picking up speed. 

“P-please,” you whimper again. You can already feel the muscles of your inner walls clenching, desperate for something to fill you. 

Papyrus’ pants grow louder. He withdraws his fingers from your clit, eliciting a whine, but it careens into a groan when he wraps his big hands around your waist and lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the smooth, hard wood of the table. Your breasts and stomach are pressed against the flat surface. Like everything else in the skeleton brother’s kitchen, the table is slightly raised to accommodate Papyrus’ height. You lie helplessly on the table, the tips of your feet barely able to touch the floor. There’s no purchase no matter how much you stretch your legs, you’re simply not tall enough to brace yourself in this position. 

“NO NEED TO BEG,” Papyrus tells you cheerfully, pressing one of his large, skeletal hands into the small of your back, holding you down.

His other hand circles around your wet folds, teasing your slicked entrance with the smooth, warm bones of his fingers. You groan again, the muscles of your lower body twitching with need. He finally pushes a single digit in, pressing past the muscles clenching around him. Your whines and whimpers transform into needy moans as he inserts another finger, pumping you slowly, scissoring, stretching your from the inside to prepare you. 

“YOU’RE VERY SOFT, EVEN FOR A HUMAN,” he states absentmindedly. “I’VE ALWAYS LIKED THAT ABOUT YOU!”

His fingers curl deep inside you, deeper than you could ever reach yourself and you nearly scream from pleasure. His own panting grows louder and louder behind you, the pressure of his cock against your ass firmer. He repeats that curling motion, hitting the bundle of nerves nestled in your warm, wet walls, deliberately giving you as much stimulation with his fingers as he can. The knobbly joints of his skeletal hand drag and rub against your entrance as he drags them in and out of you. Your let yourself clench around him, trying to push back even though you have nothing to brace yourself against, your legs and feet dangling uselessly in the air as you lay on the table. 

“Fuck me,” you moan, “please, please Papyrus, fuck me.” 

You hear a wheezing, guttural groan from behind you. It mixes with the rustle of fabric, the stiff sound of his battle body wrenched down his femurs.

The thick, heated tip of his cock presses against your entrance while he’s still fingering you, spreading slick pre-cum against the sticky wetness already collected there. 

“H-HUMAN,” he moans, the hand in the small of your back increasing its pressure, pushing you hard against the tabletop. You feel your muscles strain under his powerful touch. 

You spine arches, pressing back into him as best as you can even without the help of your legs. You really wish you could use your feet to gain some leverage, so it would be easier to rut against his cock. But your feet simply don’t reach the floor, the tips of your toes scrambling uselessly against the smooth, polished tiles, just a little bit too far away. 

“I- I can’t - Papyrus _please_ \- “ You need him, his fingers are not enough anymore, you feel so witheringly empty lying on the table with him positioned behind you, ready to push into you and fill you, but holding back…

This wasn’t what you were expecting, initially, when you had started dating him. Sweet, cheerful Papyrus, so innocent and exuberant and kind, loud and booming and naive. Who would have thought he had it in him to tease you so, to edge you until you were begging underneath him, desperate with the want to be filled? Not you. You hadn’t expected this at all.

 _You love it_.

“Please, please, please…” your moans reverberate in the tiny kitchen.

Papyrus leans forward, presses his ribs against your back, his weight slick and heavy against you. He moans into your ear, the sound nasal, but far more guttural and deep than his normal speaking voice. 

“I TOLD YOU THERE IS NO NEED TO BEG.” His voice is still cheerful and energetic, if lower and with an undertone of hoarse lust. He withdraws his fingers with a wet, sucking sound, your muscles not ready to let him go. 

You’re about to protest but then you feel his cock pressing against your entrance, more insistently than before, the head of his length stretching you more than his fingers did. 

The groan he lets out as your bodies finally connect rumbles through your body, vibrating through your core. He presses into you with a guttural, rough noise that tugs at a basal part of your brain, vibrating and sending waves of lust through you. Your moans are a soft, squeaky contrast to his voice. He normally sounds so much more high-pitched than this, so much more innocent. This, his voice when he lets himself go, primal and needy, is something only you get to hear, and you can’t get enough of it. 

“YOU’RE SO SOFT AND WARM,” he moans into your ear, his voice breathless as he presses his length to your entrance, still not pushing in. You lift yourself against him as much as you can while your feet are still dangling uselessly in the air. You want to press back into him so badly, forcing him to fill you, but you can’t. You can only wait for him, forced to accept whatever pace he sets.

Then suddenly you feel his length filling you, his long, heavy cock hilting with the very first push. You moan loud and long until feel like you’re about to choke, the feeling of him entering you resonating throughout your entire body. He pulls out, slowly, dragging the movement out, only to slam back into you heavily, rocking you forwards on the table. The warm, hard bones of his pelvis slap against your cheeks, producing a lewd sound. He repeats the motion, ramming his dick into your wet folds, the table creaking under the force of his thrusts. He’s nothing if not enthusiastic, energetic, untiring in his efforts to make sure you have a good time together.

“Ffffuck - fuck yes - ” your voice cuts off, you don’t have enough breath left to say anything else, you want to tell him how much you love this, your helplessness as you lay on the table, squished between the wood and his hard ribs, the desire you feel with every thrust into you, but you can’t. You’re left to suffocate on your own need as he rams into you, hard and fast and moaning into your ear, the curves of his ribs leaving painful marks on your oversensitive skin. Your feet are twitching. 

A long, drawn-out moan fills your ear as he presses into you with a circular motion, interrupting his steady rhythm. You can feel him pressing against the end of you and it’s painful, you want to scream but then he draws back and repeats that same, circular motion, hitting the bundle of nerves where you’re most sensitive and all you can do is choke out one gasp and moan after the other, every stroke eliciting a new one. 

The pitch of your voice careens higher and higher as he keeps hitting that sweet spot that has your toes curling, your muscles cramping. 

“THERE YOU GO THERE YOU GO THERE YOU GO,” he repeats hoarsely into your ear, clamping his teeth onto your neck, alternatively biting and licking as he rolls his hips in a very deliberate, precise manner that he took great care to learn so he can keep massaging that one spot inside of you that he knows drives you crazy. Coupled with his never ending, overflowing energy, he has you on the edge fast. You can’t last long like this. 

Your desperate, high-pitched moans die into strangled sounds as your orgasm tears through you, hitting you like a clap of thunder followed by a lightning strike; a deep, bellowing feeling that resonates from your core to the tips of your fingers and your toes, followed by a surge of delicious electricity that leaves your body numb and tingling at the same time. You try to moan his name as you come because you know how much he likes that; for him it is a sign of how well he’s doing and he loves being told how well he’s doing, but you don’t have enough air left in your lungs. 

Your orgasm fades away slowly but but Papyrus is still pounding into you as he has not come yet, relentlessly pursuing his own pleasure. Now that you’ve come the hard, deliberate stimulation is far too much for you, leaving you raw and overly sensitive. 

You barely hear the noises you make as he keeps fucking you beyond the point of comfort, moaning again with every thrust now that you’ve come, drool collecting under your face on the table as your jaw is wrenched open by the weight of your desire. Your muscles clench again, cramping around him. 

Papyrus, you have learned throughout the time you have been dating him, does not get tired. 

Never.

You feel another orgasm tear through you, more intense than the first one, and he’s still pumping his cock into you. 

Your moans have died again into little gurgling sounds, barely audible against the loud creaking and rocking of the table as it’s pushed over the spotless tiles, rocked forwards as he ruts against you senselessly. 

Just as you begin to think that this is too much, that you can’t take this anymore, a third orgasm violently causing your body to jitter around him, your feet scrambling against a floor that is too far out of reach, you feel him stilling behind you. A broken moan spills into you ear and he rocks forwards once, twice - 

He comes inside of you with a guttural groan so very unlike his usual speaking voice. You feel hot liquid spurt inside you, collecting against your overworked, heated muscles. Your walls continue to contract around his long cock despite how tired and overworked you are, milking every last bit of cum from him that he has to give. You feel dizzy and shaky after so much stimulation. When he pulls out of you, his cum splattering on the thus far immaculate kitchen floor, your body quivers at the loss of his dick. No matter how much he overworked you, you feel so empty without him. 

You’re left breathless and weak on the kitchen table, legs numb and having trouble to move your tired, cramping limbs. 

“WHEW! ANY LONGER AND THE PASTA SAUCE WOULD HAVE BURNED!” Papyrus has already collected and cleaned himself, straightened up his pants and returned to his cooking. You take far longer to slide off the table and when your feet hit the ground, your legs buckle for a second. You grasp the wood of the tabletop as you try to pull up your pants, at least high enough so you can walk and go clean yourself too.

“WE SHOULD DO THAT AGAIN SOME TIME,” Papyrus tells you with a wink. 

You’re rather inclined to agree with him.


End file.
